Notes From Undergroun Novels & Stories

I spend the whole ride back staring out the window, chewing my thumbnail until it’s basically gone. Because — okay. That was weird, right? Like, objectively weird? Two men in suits. Shades indoors. A literal contract I signed without reading because I’m apparently the poster child for bad decisions. I groan, flopping my head against the headrest. “Marina Russo, you idiot,” I mutter. “You said you wanted a normal job. Not some sketchy underworld catering gig.” By the time we pull up to my building — paint peeling, windows stuck, definitely not mansion material — I’m ready to collapse face-first into my couch and pretend today never happened.

Was I dreaming, or was it something else, or maybe the medicine hadn't fully kicked in yet? My fever was getting pretty high, was I getting sick? I gave myself an hour for the fever to drop; if not will head to the hospital. My mind wandered on Blake as I poured some water over my body and it went even dirtier on having him inside of me.I brushed it off and got out of the bathtub.I wrapped in a towel and headed to the kitchen.I saw a note that was near the wine. It was from Mark,it read: Hope to see you soon, so we can have a good time.

She folded her hands on the table's edge. "Let's get to work. Silas. That page in the Code about the First One. Even if the ink has faded, recite it word by word. Dorian. Everything on Greyhollow's underground city in the North. Three-hundred-year-old construction blueprints. Underground water flows. Any possible ventilation shafts or hidden passages. Rex. That hideout you infiltrated. Mark it on the map." Rex grinned. He picked up a charcoal pencil from in front of her. He stabbed its tip onto a coordinate on the map.

Because it was the first time she had said it. Out loud. The forest trembled again. Not physically. Emotionally. As if the entire place was reacting to something beneath it. Then— The ground beneath them vibrated. A low, resonant hum. Deep. Controlled. Mechanical. Coming from below. Daniel stepped back instinctively. “That’s underground,” he said. Rachel nodded rapidly. “The facility—there’s a lower level that was never documented.” Mercer’s voice cut in sharply. “There is no lower level.”

Every small action I take echoes through the hierarchy, subtle but unavoidable. I crouch near a fallen log, letting my mind expand into the surroundings. I feel the faint tracks of rouges moving along the borders, recalculating their positions after the last confrontation. They are patient, measured, cautious. Every scent I pick up is a note in a silent communication. I memorize their rhythms, the shifts in their scent trails, the subtle disturbances in the underbrush. Each one could tell me their intentions before a single word or strike occurs.

Tom explained, “She says it should be returned to its rightful owner.” When Theodore flipped to the first page, the first thing he saw was something he had inscribed back then. “For us in ten years.” However, there was now a new line written below it. “I’m sorry I couldn’t wait ten years.” It was written with a fountain pen and appeared rather blurred, as if it had been smeared by water. “The young lady…” Tom explained reluctantly. “She… she isn’t doing very well.” Theodore closed the sketchbook and stated frankly, “Tom, I’m very happy now.”

I donated so much blood to save the person Dakota Lennox had never gotten over that I went into shock. When I woke up, she tossed a divorce agreement at me. "I'm pregnant. Walter deserves a place in this family." When I refused, she showed up with Walter Kingsleigh and caused a scene at my mother's funeral, trashing the place. "Asher, sign this house over to Walter. He likes how peaceful it is here." I gritted my teeth, wishing I could tear her apart. But she only scoffed dismissively. "What? Are you refusing? In that case, you can forget about getting your mother's ashes." Walter put an arm around her shoulders and called out, "Dakota, we could put the urn on display in our new house.

It was year four of my arranged marriage to Lucas. Then Roderick invaded our land. He was the most powerful Alpha on the West Coast. One look was all it took. The Moon Goddess snapped our mate bond into place. Right in front of everyone, he stole me away and dragged me to his packhouse. For three years, he spoiled me rotten. Every wolf pack in North America burned with envy. He gave me free rein over the best medical labs. My inner wolf was weak from old scars, so he held me tight every single full moon. When wolfsbane nearly killed me, this ruthless Alpha dropped a ten-billion-dollar merger. He sat by my hospital bed for days and never closed his eyes once. His devotion was loud and shamele

I shoved my hands in my pockets and started walking with no real direction. Just forward. My phone buzzed twenty minutes later. It was from Red. I answered immediately. “Talk to me.” “Alright, calm your tits. I got a better lock on it.” He sounded focused now, less joking. “I’m getting a rough location from the network data. It’s not exact, but it keeps pointing east, near that indie strip with all the basement venues and record shops. You know the one? Under the old train tracks.” I knew it. Everyone who cared about underground music knew it. Cheap bars, small stages, people who actually gave a fuck about sound instead of algorithms.

Helena corrected. "The one beneath it." Everyone turned toward Noah. He blinked. "There isn't a basement." Gabriel smiled faintly. "There wasn't." "Until Luca Bellini built one." Vivienne immediately opened old architectural records. For several moments... Nothing appeared. Then... A hidden layer revealed itself beneath the workshop plans. A concealed chamber. No official entrance. No registered dimensions. Only one handwritten note in Italian. Where music remembers what people forget. Helena closed her eyes. "That's it."